


The Beast You've Made of Me

by overflow



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Second Person, angst so much angst, so much self-loathing, you are armie armie is you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overflow/pseuds/overflow
Summary: You will destroy this boy.





	The Beast You've Made of Me

**Author's Note:**

> so i know that y'all wanted an update for sell your soul, not your whole self, but you're getting this instead

You love this boy.

This boy who stands with his hips forward, his shoulders back, slightly hunched.  This boy who constantly looks as if he’s leaning against some invisible wall, this boy who can be knocked over by the slightest breeze.  This boy who looks at you with something between lust and hero-worship, this boy who wants nothing more than to be with you, to be with only you. 

Timothée.  You can’t pronounce it correctly.   _Teemotay._ You can say it, yes, but not the way it’s meant to be said.  It doesn’t sound beautiful rolling off your tongue the way it does when he introduces himself.  You can’t quite wrap your lips around that french sound, those punctuated consonants, those quick, barely-there vowels.

Perhaps you can’t say his name correctly because you don’t deserve to.  You are, after all, a traitor. You are, after all, married with children, leading him on, lying to him, manipulating him, without even meaning to, without ever wanting to.  You never asked him to fall in love with you, and yet he did, almost immediately, and you couldn’t stop it.

 _Protect him,_ you think to yourself, every time you see him looking waif-like and fragile and too open, which he almost always does.   _Protect him,_ you think, _because he will not protect himself._ And yet you are the one who hurts him the most.

Your wife loves him.  You know, because she tells you all the time, and because she shows it.  She likes to cook for him, and sends him home with leftovers all the time.  She insists that he stays with them whenever he’s in L.A. Every month or so, his unibrow gets a bit out of control and she plucks it for him.  Once, when he fell asleep on the couch while the three of you watched a movie together, she put a blanket over him and kissed his forehead. “I feel like he’s one of the kids, don’t you?” she said.  And you nodded, like you didn’t fuck him the previous day, like you don’t dream about running away with him every day.

You are a traitor to her as well.  You’re loyal only to yourself, you’ve learned, and maybe to your penis too.  

When the two of them sit together on the couch, and she combs through his hair with her fingers, you think: _If I had to choose, who would I pick?_

You would die for both of them, you know this.  But if you had to pick one to live and one two die, who would you choose?  You don’t know. (Or maybe you do. Maybe you do and you’re scared to admit it.)

When he comes over, and the two of you are alone, he likes to climb up your body, likes to let you carry him around.  He trusts you so unconditionally, and you want to shake him and scream at him: _WHY? Don’t you see what I’m doing?  Don’t you see who I am?_

You will destroy this boy.  Maybe he doesn’t know it yet.  He must know he’s being hurt, because he tries to hide it.  He tries to hide it every time you kiss Elizabeth, every time you post a picture on Instagram, every time the two of you hold hands.  Every time he sleeps at your house and you shuffle him off to the guest room while you sleep in the master bedroom with your wife. He tries to hide it, but the boy is see-through; the

Boy is see-through.  You can see all the veins in his eyelids, all the veins in his wrists.  He’s so pale, his skin is so thin—this world will tear him apart, and you will help it along.  You don’t want to, but you can’t help yourself. You love him too much to be without him, but apparently too little to let him go.

Most nights, when he sleeps in your bed, he lies on his stomach and you rub his back until he falls asleep.  You like to fool yourself into thinking you’re taking care of him. But tonight, tonight is different. He lies on top of you, his full body slumped against yours, his chest against yours.  His head is tucked underneath your chin, nuzzling you. You brush your fingers along his sides, feeling every rib move slightly as he breathes, feeling his heartbeat against your stomach. You can tell he feels safe.  And maybe he is, if you’re careful. You won’t hurt him, not tonight.

“I love you,” he says.

You love him too.  So you don’t say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> so thats the end of this drabble that no one asked for and no one wanted! hope you liked it! im on tumblr as dracorys.tumblr.com


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